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shadow_vector2010-11-27 08:22 pm
Inside
G1
Skyfire
warning: ref to canon character death, angst
And I don't know why Skyfire does these monologues in my head. And I don't know why he speaks this way. But he does.
(TMI A/N: yesterday, when I wrote this, was the anniversary of my very first love's suicide. So...a lot of that kind of maybe crept into this.)
Internal Log 486.23.7843.22
There are things we never dare to show to anyone. Things that are too precious and too awful. Everyone, I’ve found, has at least one. We think it’s a dangerous key that would unlock all that is unlovable about us. Because we each believe that if someone could see us deep, deep inside, they would find us repulsive. They would see us as our weaknesses and nothing more. Messy creatures, we are, made of oil and lubricant, grease gumming in our joints, flakes of mis-aligned stripped metal dusting our insides. The very act of living makes us filthy, in more ways than one: it strips our gears but also forces us into choices, decisions, consequences.
And sometimes, there is no one right answer. Sometimes…sometimes I wish the other Autobots knew that. Their world does seem so black and white and crisp, and I’ve found myself wondering if that was just a fool’s appeal to me—how sharp and clean the lines and edges of their world are, compared to how muddied and grey Starscream’s has become. So clean and sharp, I fear I’ve cut myself on them.
I know I’ve stumbled on those edges before. I know they don’t trust me. And perhaps rightfully so: sometimes I don’t trust myself.
It’s why I’ve clung to science so strongly. It is stability, surety, the sterile smells and controlled conditions of the laboratory, where order rules and the questions, and the answers, are things outside of myself. Safe, in a sense, no matter how volatile they may be.
A long and meandering way for me to try to say…I heard that he’s dead. Starscream.
I…I can’t even wrap my cortex around it. I, who can do five dimensional math in my head, cannot comprehend so basic and so simple a thing as death. Not…to him. Nothing ordinary could, should ever happen to Starscream.
And I want to rage, and I want to weep and I want to fly—to slice through the treacherous atmosphere, break free from the bonds of gravity and responsibility and float in space keening my pain until the cold vacuum cools me, numbs my grief. But I know they wouldn’t understand; it would just feed their doubts about me. Foolish, since any reason for doubt is…dead.
And I hate that I had to hear it as rumor. And I hate that I didn’t know, bodily. It feels like a betrayal that I went on and had good days, may have laughed, and smiled, and thought fond thoughts…while he was dead. I can’t even remember what I was doing when he died. The worst event of my life and I was…eating or chatting while it happened. It feels like the last treachery I could have done to him that I did not collapse on the spot, on the instant, as though time and space were nothing compared to what we shared. Romantic notion. Madness, considering how rarely, and how coldly, we did speak.
And, if I dare confess it even to myself, even here in my private log, I hated that the others gloated. Hated hearing Bumblebee and Ironhide crow at his death, though I know, I know, that they have suffered plenty and often at his hands. I hid behind some fabricated research (yes, I lied, to get away) and left before I had to hear more, before I would either lash out or break down…or both.
Starscream. Whatever I was to you, whatever I meant, I am sorry that it wasn’t enough. And I can only hope you died as you would have wanted: a warrior’s death, a prince’s death. I don’t know who killed you. The rumors weren’t that precise. And I would swear to some potent revenge but…you know me too well. Even in death, you still know me, know how ill-suited I am for such talk of honor and revenge.
And folly, because I know how little that would accomplish other than to spin the wheel of death ‘round yet once again.
But…if it would bring you back, even for a few moments, even just a fleeting vision so that I could say farewell, that I could just…see you, one last time? It would be worth everything.
There are things we keep inside. Unsafe to share, unsafe to acknowledge. You, yes you, Starscream, would drive me to that, cause me to throw away my principles for…a handful of moments, just one phantom word. There are things we keep inside, locked tight, locked deep. Optimus would say they are our greatest strength, but…I fear it is my weakness. Even now.
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well, SS isnt easy to keep dead. Just wait, Sky, you might see him alive again... He's never giving up. Not even after death.
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